Philip Everex's house was the dull shade of green that grows on trees in the hot jungles of South America. Likewise, it was hidden from all those who did not seek it, much like the person you aren't looking for in a crowd of people. The problem with this was that people often sought Philip, though not his house, and many passed it multiple times before finally seeing the door breaking through the camouflage of siding.
Philip was the appointed meteorologist of the small town he resided in, though he had never dabbled too much into the scientific side of the science. He appraised cloud structures, took temperature readings, and received many reports from the surrounding towns. Compiling all his data into a simple flow chart, he was able to triangulate storms so accurately, that the town could be prepared for a monsoon that would come several months later. Explanations of his meteorological prowess were varied and many; some claimed he was a witch, which was in fact false. The plain reasoning was that Philip understood how weather worked, and simply wrote what he knew to be true.
People could not understand what went on in his head, and truth be told, neither could he. But it was not a hard process, as most are, it flowed as simply as follows:
Clouds make rain, rain falls on the heads of cloud watchers, cloud watchers dry off, but rain continues to fall, so rain, seeking water, falls in oceans. Oceans take the water, which falls from the clouds, then become sick with having ingested to fast, spew the water back up into the clouds, who, having been sad for dropping their rain, eagerly envelop the droplets again, until they become tired of the extra weight added to their bodies, and seek to relieve themselves on the heads of the stalkers on the ground.